


It's Something So Surreal

by grumpybell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, accidental texts, seriously just so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpybell/pseuds/grumpybell
Summary: On one level Bellamy doesn't actually have a problem with the fact that he gets a text message from a number he doesn't know with an attached picture of a hot girl in a fancy lingerie set. He just assumes it's some sort of weird sex app trying to lure him in. After all, no one has boobs that fantastic; it's got to be photoshop. On another level, it gets him riled up about the objectification of women and he's probably going to talk Miller's ear off about it later that night. But then he gets another text that just says,yes or no?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is. I didn't proof read it either. It was just something that I started thinking about in the shower and was going to just be a short little drabble and it got away from me a little bit (story of my life, really) so I decided to post it independently instead of in my drabble collection. All fluff. So much fluff.

 

On one level Bellamy doesn't actually have a problem with the fact that he gets a text message from a number he doesn't know with an attached picture of a hot girl in a fancy lingerie set. He just assumes it's some sort of weird sex app trying to lure him in. After all, no one has boobs that fantastic; it's got to be photoshop. On another level, it gets him riled up about the objectification of women and he's probably going to talk Miller's ear off about it later that night. But then he gets another text that just says,

_yes or no?_

And even then he's thinking it's part of the scam, but he takes another look at the photo and it's not... Well, the girl isn't in some overly sexual position. It's a mirror selfie, and she's gorgeous, but it's not really the sort of photo that seems designed to titillate. So he texts back.

**I'm pretty sure that wasn't meant for me.**

He's not really expecting an answer. Hell, he'd be pretending like it never happened if he accidentally sent a sexy photo of himself to the wrong person, but two seconds later his phone buzzes.

 _omg._  
_this is so embarrassing!_  
_I was just sending this to my roommate to get her opinion._  
_please pretend this didn't happen._

And, that's fair. She didn't mean to send him the photo, just like he thought, and that should be the end of it, but being the curious asshole that he is, he can't help himself.

**Deal.  
But how did you even manage to send it to me? Don't you just text people out of your contacts?**

It takes longer for her to answer this time, long enough that he assumes she just isn't going to, which he guesses is also fair. After all, he's just some random dude she accidentally sent a risque photo of herself to. She probably really doesn't want to talk to him. He's wrong.

_uh. yeah. you're in my contacts._

Bellamy blinks, startled. This just got so much weirder.

 **Do I know you?** he texts. He really thinks he'd remember her. He knows he's had a few one night stands, but there's no way he'd forget a girl who looks like _that_.

 _no. fuck._  
_this is so embarrassing.  
_ _I'm Octavia's roommate. she put your number in my phone “in case of emergency” but she put you two in as Blake 1 and Blake 2. she thought it was funny. turns out that was a bad idea._

Clarke. This is _Clarke_. He's only been to Octavia's dorm a few times and her roommate, who she talks about incessantly, is never there. According to Octavia, she practically lives in the art studio. Octavia had failed to mention that her roommate is stunningly beautiful.

 **I would say 'nice to meet you,' but it feels like we might be past that point.** He hopes she finds his shitty attempt at humor and defusing the situation at least mildly endearing. Miller would probably be telling him he's not cute right about now.

_am I supposed to tell your sister about this? I feel like I'm supposed to, but she's going to never let me live this down._

Bellamy snorts. She's right. Octavia will absolutely never let her live this down.

**I won't tell if you don't.**

Her answer comes quickly.

_deal._

It doesn't seem like there's much to say to that, so he deletes the photo Clarke accidentally sent and puts his phone away and gets back to work, trying not to think too much about her breasts. That would just be disrespectful.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't hear from Clarke again, nor meet her officially, for the next month. He'd added her number to his contacts after their first conversation. She has his, so he figures it isn't weird. Plus, he likes having a couple of numbers he might be able to reach Octavia at. Still, it's not like he _uses_ her number. They have nothing to talk about. So he definitely isn't expecting it when he's woken by a text at three in the morning and rolls over, squinting at his phone, to see Clarke's name there. He opens the text.

_i mighwt bje just a little biit drrkun. jusvt a little. h_

It takes his groggy mind a moment to translate, and once he does he's pretty sure this another mistake, but he's not just going to leave Clarke to drunk text and wreak havoc on her life.

**You don't say. I couldn't tell at all.**

_gcan you come dget me, plehase?_

He stares at her request. It's one thing for Clarke to drunk text him thinking he's Octavia because she just wants someone to talk to. It's an entirely other thing for her to potentially be in a bad position. And since he _knows_ Octavia is asleep on his sofa, he figures there's only one thing for it.

**Where are you? This is Bellamy, btw.**

_Belvsamy?_

**Octavia's brother. O's asleep, but I can pick you up if you need a ride.**

_lbyaeml! im' at a bar on phoenix sntreet. i tehink. iti's called grodsneur or somethving?_

**On my way. Don't leave with anyone.**

_thank qyou. you're my faevorite._

He does a quick google search on his phone for Grounders while he's pulling on a t-shirt, finds it is, in fact, a bar on Phoenix Street, and stuffs his feet into his shoes. Octavia will probably never let him live down his big brother instincts that send him out at three in the morning to pick up a friend of hers who he's never even met... but it's not like he's going to just leave any drunk girl asking for a ride to fend for themselves. He'd have to be an asshole to do that. Or,a different type of asshole than he is.

He sends a silent thank you to every higher power he can think of when he finds a free parking space just outside Grounders. It's a Monday night, so the bar is fairly empty and he spots Clarke immediately, leaning on the bar and looking like she's about ready to pass out. He may have only seen her once in a photo that he pretty quickly deleted, but there's no mistaking her.

She doesn't notice his approach, busy babbling at the bartender who looks mildly exasperated, so Bellamy puts a hand on her shoulder, and she turns to him, eyes wide and blurry.

“You ready to go?” he asks. It's not really a question, she'd asked for someone to come get her, and she's clearly smashed.

She blinks at him. “I'm not supposed to leave with anyone,” she says, dutiful, and looking a little proud of herself, though her eyes are focused somewhere around his chin. It's only then that he realizes just because he's seen Clarke, that doesn't mean she's ever seen him. At least she's listening to his text advice.

“Right. Anyone _else_. I'm Bellamy, Clarke.”

She tilts her head, staring at him, no reaction, and then- “Bellamy!” she exclaims happily, stumbling off her barstool and directly into his chest. He catches her around the waist before she falls, sighing internally. It's nearing four in the morning and he doubts, with Clarke in this condition, he's going to get any sleep in the near future. It's not like Bellamy _enjoys_ worrying about people. He can't help it. It's why Octavia has collected a band of strays- Jasper  & Monty, Raven, Murphy, Harper, and now probably Clarke. It's easy for Octavia, because she brings them home and Bellamy takes care of them. It's for this exact reason he never let her get a puppy. She's got the heart for it, but not the follow through.

Clarke has burrowed against him, sighing and curling her arms around his neck. She appears to be close to losing consciousness, so he needs to get moving before that. He keeps his grip on Clarke, but leans over to speak to the bartender.

“Her tab?” he asks.

The man nods at him. “She closed it.” Thank God. With that settled, he manages to get Clarke moving, albeit slowly. He's yet again thankful for the proximity of his car. Clarke's gone pliant, which makes it both easier and harder to bundle her into the car.

She falls asleep on the way to her dorm, and when he pulls in, he has to shake her slightly to get her eyes open.

“Clarke, where are your keys?”

She looks at him blankly for a few long moments. “Gave them to Lincoln.”

Bellamy doesn't know who Lincoln is and he doesn't know where to find him and Clarke, who's already nodding off again, doesn't seem to be in a position to help him out. Instead of spending countless minutes trying to pry the information out of Clarke, he just turns on the engine and drives them back to his apartment.

He gets Clarke stumbling up three stairs before giving up and carrying her. He feels like he's in a rom com, except for the fact that all he really wants to do is curl up in bed and by the time he gets to the third floor he's broken out into a sweat. It might look cute, but it certainly doesn't feel that way.

Octavia wakes up, despite his best efforts, while he's in the living room, Clarke sagging against him. She sits up on the sofa, hair tousled, eyes half closed.

“Bell? What's going on? Why do you have Clarke?”

He uses the interruption to take a breather he's been unwilling to admit he needs. He might go to the gym five days a week, but carrying someone up stairs _sucks_. “She texted me on accident, trying to text you, needed a ride and I didn't want to wake you.”

Clarke rouses a little bit, nuzzling his chest and murmuring, “don't feel good.”

“Look, I can help-” Octavia starts, but she's leaning back against the couch, eyelids getting lower and lower and Bellamy is already shaking his head.

“No, just go to bed. Try to get _some_ sleep before classes tomorrow. I've got this.” It's not like Bellamy hasn't dealt with this sort of thing before, both from Octavia and her band of friends.

Clarke's semi-conscious, murmuring unintelligible things into his shirt, but she moves her feet when he starts walking, and that helps a bit. He gets her sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard while he goes for a glass of water.

She blinks blearily at him when he hands it to her, like she doesn't know what to do with it.

“Come on, we need to get you hydrated,” he says, helping her tip the cup up to her lips. He's actually impressed she manages not to spill it all over herself. It takes him nearly ten minutes to get her to drink it all and her eyelids are drooping.

“Don't feel good,” she says again, as he's starting to take the cup back to the kitchen.

“What's wrong?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.

Clarke puts a hand on her stomach, looking up at him with distressed eyes. Fuck. He can't quite bring himself to _run_ , but he goes for the plastic tub he keeps cleaning supplies in under the kitchen sink at a brisk pace. He gets back to Clarke in time, but only just, catching her hair up in one hand as she vomits spectacularly into the plastic tub he's holding.

She coughs a little, then meets his eyes, miserable. He wishes he wasn't so used to Octavia's friends vomiting, but it's honestly part of the weekend for him.

“Okay, hold this,” he puts the tub in Clarke's lap and makes sure she's gripping it with one hand, before sliding around behind her and combing his fingers through her hair. He never got the hang of the fancy braids that Octavia likes, but he can do a basic french braid okay, so he works the tangles out of Clarke's hair and braids it away from her face.

“You're nice,” Clarke tells him, clutching the tub of vomit and trying to nuzzle his hand, which is kind of cute and very annoying.

“And you're very drunk,” he tells her. “Any obligations tomorrow?”

Clarke is quiet for a few long moments. “I don't know,” she says, finally.

“School?” he prompts.

“I don't think...” she hiccups. “Do I go to school?”

“Well, you're my sister's college roommate, so I assume so. Why wouldn't you go to school?”

“I'm a princess,” Clarke tells him, perking up a little. “Princesses don't have to go to school.”

Bellamy snorts. “Well, alright, then, Princess. Hopefully you don't miss anything important.” He takes the tub back from her and sets it on the floor next to his bed, in quick reach if necessary. Clarke scrunches down in his bed, and fights him a little when he tells her not to fall asleep on her back, but finally complies, rolling onto her side with a huff.

“You have pretty... spots,” she says, bleary, but understandable.

“Spots?”

Clarke waves her hand a little wildly. “Face dots,” she clarifies.

Bellamy bites back an amused smile. “Freckles?”

“Freckles!” she exclaims, happy.

“Okay,” Bellamy says. “I think it's bedtime.”

Clarke pouts at him, but she's asleep within five minutes flat.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't see or hear from Clarke for two weeks after the drinking incident. She'd stumbled out of his room a little after one in the afternoon, her hair escaping from the french braid he'd done, and he'd passed her a water and painkillers and then stood over her to make sure she'd eaten the reheated pancakes he'd made for breakfast. In the light of day she'd been quiet, embarrassed, and left as soon as possible, telling him sorry about a thousand times. Considering how eager she'd been to escape, he really doesn't expect to see her anytime soon. So when he sees her name on his phone, he automatically assumes it's another accident.

_Hey, so I've pretty much already humiliated myself to the highest level in front of you, right?_

He's a little taken aback that the text actually appears to be for him.

**You could say that, I guess.**

_So hypothetically if I'm trying to avoid an ex who cheated on me, asking to come hide at your place for the evening really can't make the situation worse, can it? I could hypothetically bring 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry' alcohol._

Bellamy has a date with an extra large pizza and Making A Murderer, and he doesn't really _know_ Clarke. He wouldn't exactly put their only two interactions in the category of “getting to know” someone, but he's a sucker for anyone in need.

**What kind of pizza do you like?**

_Literally all of it. It's pizza. What kind of alcohol do you like?_

**Literally all of it. It's alcohol.** He texts back.

_Asshole._

**An asshole who's offering you asylum and food.**

_But an asshole all the same_. Clarke counters.

He doesn't know her, but he finds himself smiling a little bit. What he does know, he thinks he likes.

It's weirdly easy, having Clarke in his evening. He would generally consider someone crashing his pizza and docuseries night an intrusion, but Clarke arrives with a six pack of beer and a big smile, and she just slots right in. They eat pizza and drink beer and almost immediately end up in an argument.

“It doesn't matter if he actually killed her,” Clarke says, “it's about a fair trial, which he obviously didn't get.”

“I'm pretty sure it _does_ matter if he killed her.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I didn't mean it like that. Obviously if he murdered her he should end up in jail. I'm just saying that the issue here isn't whether or not he murdered her, it's that they should have to prove it in a _fair trial_.”

It's not like he thinks she's actually wrong. He's just not good at backing down from an argument. They bicker through fifteen whole minutes of an episode and have to back up due to missing some important facts and they both end up passing out during the fourth consecutive episode.

Bellamy wakes up a little after midnight, Clarke nestled on his chest, their legs tangled. This is definitely not how they were before he fell asleep, but he finds he doesn't really mind it. Bellamy isn't a cuddler, probably because he tends towards one night stands and that doesn't really go well with cuddling, but there's something calming about the weight of her against him. He intends to shimmy out from under her, cover her with a blanket, and go to his own bed, but he falls back asleep before he manages to do any of it.

When he wakes up again it's morning and he finds Clarke in the kitchen staring dejectedly into his fridge.

“Morning?” he says, it coming out a question.

“You don't have anything that can be put in a microwave or toaster oven,” Clarke announces, closing the fridge and turning to look at him.

“Yeah, I like real food.”

Clarke's nose crinkles. “But it's so _hard_.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes at her. “Sit down. I'll make french toast.”

Octavia drops by when they're halfway through breakfast, freezes in the doorway, and then lets out a long exasperated sigh. “Bellamy, are you seriously fucking my roommate?”

Clarke drops her fork, and Bellamy can feel heat crawling up the back of his neck, but there's nothing to be embarrassed about, so he looks Octavia dead in the eye.

“No, Octavia, I'm seriously not fucking your roommate. Have some french toast.” He really doesn't know what else to say.

 

* * *

 

Clarke becomes a fixture in his life slowly. She starts coming over with Octavia on a fairly regular basis, and then just on her own. He doesn't really question it. His apartment has always been something of a home away from home for Octavia's friends. Sometimes so much so that it's hard to get privacy. But Clarke is different; she doesn't just stop by to abuse his cable subscription and eat up all the leftovers in his fridge.

When it rains she shows up with coffee and pastries from the coffee house down the street. If she comes early, she brings bagels or muffins. Every now and then she shows up with a book for him on some obscure historical topic. She'll curl up on his sofa and draw or read and chat idly with him when she decides he's not too busy. She even insists on reading his thesis and returns the copy he made her full of notes and doodles and sarcastic comments.

It's probably stupid of him not to realize he has a crush on her for ages. She just... she grew on him slowly. He doesn't notice it for _weeks_ , but once he does, it's like he can't stop thinking about it. Somehow she'd gone from “that girl who accidentally texted me a semi-nude photo” to “probably my favorite person,” and he really has no idea how it happened. He doesn't know how to tell her, but he feels like he probably should. It doesn't seem healthy or appropriate to spend all his time with her (and a fair amount without her) thinking about it. He doesn't think Clarke sees him like that, so it will probably be quick, fairly painful, but then done with. Over.

Planning to talk to Clarke about it, and actually talking to Clarke about it are very different things. He tells himself he's waiting for the right time, but isn't anytime an okay time to be rejected? It's not like he wants it to be romantic timing, she's only going to shoot him down. He hopes it doesn't make her uncomfortable enough to stop coming over. He wants to keep being Clarke's friend no matter what. That's his number one priority. But if Clarke doesn't want that... Well, that will suck, but he'll have to live with it.

Of course, before he gets a chance to talk to her, she texts him. More specifically she texts him a very sexy topless photo. He stares at it, forgetting to breathe, his heart thundering wildly in his chest. But then he realizes. He and Clarke don't text. Maybe it's because of the way their relationship started, maybe it's because Bellamy isn't really a fan of texting, which he's made pretty clear to everyone who knows him, he doesn't know. But that means that she probably did not mean to send this photo to him.

He only feels disappointed for a moment before he realizes something much worse. Clarke only accidentally texts him when she's _trying_ to text Octavia. Which means that Clarke might be in a relationship, or at least want to be in a relationship, with his sister. He should have seen this coming. He's seen photos and heard stories about her exgirlfriend Lexa, who by all accounts was kind of a badass, which kind of explains some things. So is Octavia. His sister is probably exactly Clarke's type. It's a little harder to see from Octavia's end, but he's a little stuck on the fact that he's got a picture of Clarke's breasts on his phone that was meant for his sister. He doesn't know how to deal with it.

He decides just to pretend like it didn't happen. That's probably what he'd want if he were in Clarke's position. He'll just forget it ever happened and they'll never talk about it and he'll do his best to stop having feelings for her, particularly if she's dating his sister. He's not a perfect person, but this just seems beyond bad.

He really doesn't expect Clarke to come over that night. It also happens to be a night that none of their other friends or Octavia decides to show up. For all the times he's wished for peace and quiet around his place, this is the most painfully awkward time he could have gotten his wish. He'd expected Clarke to lay low for a couple of days, let them both move past it a little easier. Instead, she shows up just after dinner with a DVD copy of _Gladiator_ and waves it in his face.

“Come on,” she says as a greeting, making a beeline for his living room. “You're going to hate it. It'll be great.”

And for the first ten minutes, it kind of is, though that might be that Bellamy hasn't gotten over the shock of seeing her yet. But then he becomes painfully aware of Clarke, sitting on the other side of the sofa, and it's like something shifts, because she suddenly looks uncomfortable too. Bellamy has a habit of commenting on (and complaining about) movies, but he can't think of a single thing to say.

After five minutes of awkward silence and the forced space between them on the sofa, Clarke turns with a determined look on her face.

“So we're just not going to talk about the photo?”

Bellamy swallows, tries not to picture it. “I... Um. I didn't think you'd want to. And it's kind of weird for me, so...” The last thing he wants to do is think about Clarke dating his sister.

“Oh.” Clarke looks momentarily surprised, then color floods her cheeks and she looks away, chewing on her bottom lip. “Sorry, I didn't think... It was a stupid thing for me to do. I guess I read the situation wrong.”

“Wait, what?” Bellamy is definitely missing something.

Clarke's looking at her lap, but he can still see her blush. “I thought you _liked_ me,” she says, soft. Russell Crowe's voice is suddenly painfully loud on the tv, and Bellamy mutes it without thinking. This doesn't seem like the type of conversation to have with Joaquin Phoenix in the background.

“I do,” he says, “What does that have to-” it hits him suddenly, and it's so obvious, really it's the most logical explanation. “Wait, did you mean to send that photo to _me_?”

Clarke looks up, finally, her brow furrowed. “Obviously. Who else would I be sending it to?”

“I thought- You always text me when you mean to text Octavia.”

“Why would I send _that_ to Octavia?”

“I don't know!” It sounds ridiculous now that he's heard it coming out of Clarke's mouth. He _knows_ Octavia is head over heels for Clarke's friend Lincoln, but he hadn't exactly been thinking logically when he'd come to the conclusion that Clarke was sexting his sister.

“So let me get this straight,” Bellamy says slowly, “You sent me a topless photo intentionally, because you thought I liked you and presumably you like me too?”

“That about sums it up, yeah.” The color in her cheeks is back, full force.

Bellamy starts laughing, because it's just so ludicrous and _so_ something that would happen to him. He can't ever seem to do things in the normal fashion.

“Okay,” he says, “okay, but you _do_ only text me when you're trying to text Octavia,” he points out, but he can't help the grin on his face.

“That only happened twice,” Clarke counters, but she's starting to smile too. “And you've been 'Bellamy' in my phone since the second time, so you're not even next to Octavia anymore. Hold on,” something seems to click for her, “did you think I had a thing for your sister?”

Bellamy flushes. It's embarrassing now that she's said it. “At the time it seemed like the best explanation.”

“Seriously?” she sounds exasperated, but also fond and she pushes off from where she's sitting on the other end of the sofa and climbs into his lap. “I send you a photo of my boobs and you think the best explanation is that I meant to send it to your sister?”

Bellamy is a little distracted by Clarke all pressed up against him. “Um.”

She kisses him before he can get out more of an answer and that's really alright with him. It probably stops him from saying something stupid anyway. It's also just awesome, that she wants to kiss _him_.

“I can't believe I sent you an awesome photo of my tits and you assumed it was for your sister,” Clarke murmurs against his lips.

“Hey,” Bellamy protests, but it sounds weak, “you're the one who sent me a topless photo instead of telling me you were interested like a normal person.”

Clarke bites his bottom lip. “Yeah, because I have really great boobs.”

And, well, he can't argue with that, so he doesn't even try to. He still doesn't like to lose an argument on principle, but he thinks he can make an exception this time. He prefers kissing Clarke to arguing with her anyway.

The next morning, he sends Octavia a text.

 **FYI,** _**now** _ **I am seriously fucking your roommate.**

 


End file.
